A Study In Booze
by sooochangeable
Summary: Post ASIP. John and Sherlock celebrate their first case together, and things get out of hand. This is an old fic, with many shiny improvements. T for brief language.


That night at Mai Village was nothing but a blur. John and Sherlock wanted to celebrate their first case together, and they both thought that a bit of drinking was in order. Neither of them had intended on drinking themselves into a stupor, but after a half a bottle of wine, they'd both figured, "Why the hell not?" This proved to be an unwise choice.

When John woke up the next morning, he'd felt as if his head had been split open. He tried to piece together the previous night's events, but he realized he must have been too drunk to remember anything. He had a strange feeling that something big had happened that night. He could see vague flashes of things: a dark taxi cab, a glass, stumbling up the stairs of 221b Baker Street, but nothing of importance. He figured that if he waited until he woke up a bit, then he could probably be able to remember things a bit more clearly.

When he tried to step out of his bed, he realized what he was putting his feet on something that was soft, and squishy, and sinewy, and definitely not the floor. Instead, it was Sherlock, fully clothed and sound asleep. _ Why would he be on my bedroom floor? _John wondered. He stepped over Sherlock, careful not to wake him or stumble into anything, and walked to the kitchen to make tea. He made enough for two people- he figured Sherlock would be equally as hungover as he was.

When Sherlock woke up on his new flatmate's bedroom floor, he was beyond confused.

"How much did I drink last night?" he mumbled. As he sat up, he realized that he was still wearing his suit. _Must've been a lot,_ he thought. When he realized that he couldn't remember anything from last night past the first few glasses of wine, his thoughts were confirmed.

"John!" He shouted, causing him to go dizzy.

John replied from the living room, "Yes?"

Sherlock hesitated for a brief moment. "Could you make me some coffee?"

_"Are you sure?" John asked. He wanted to be as careful he could. This day had been crazy enough as it was, and alcohol could add so many more things to the equation. He was confused and unsure and bothered and itchy. But really, it was nothing. Sure, Sherlock was intelligent, handsome, and daring, but that didn'tmean anything. It didn't mean that he was gay. It didn't mean that he'd spent the past thirty five years lying to himself. He knew that if he kept his guard up, if he didn't let Sherlock deduce anything, and just allowed it to blow over, nothing bad could possibly happen between them._

_Sherlock grinned and said, "Why not? We just solved our first case together. I'd say it's means for celebration."_

_John hesitated, but he could hardly resist. "All right, fine." Sherlock wore a triumphant look as he ordered two more glasses of wine from Mandy, the waitress. _This won't turn out well, I know it_._

_"You're thinking this won't end well." John was surprised when Sherlock said this._

_"Yes, I am," He admitted in a low voice. He looked down uncomfortably as he spoke. One wrong move and Sherlock could figure out everything that he'd been feeling, ever since they'd met._

_"Well, don't," He said. John looked up, and all of his previous tension faded away. Sherlock was being friendly, in his own way, and he appreciated that. Mandy came back with two glasses of white wine, and after that, things passed with ease._

_Niether of the men would care to admit it, but each of them had a considerably low tolerance for alcohol. After the third or fourth glass of wine, John was laughing hysterically and Sherlock was talking feverishly about past cases that he'd solved, waving his arms about in a ridiculous manner. He was so intent and so focused. It was the first time John had seen a grown man be so childlike yet so articulate all at once._

_Sherlock leaned in towards John, staring him dead in the eyes. "Do you know what happened then?" He asked._

_John was absolutely baffled. "I have absolutely no idea."_

_"It wasn't a murder at all." Sherlock paused, just to watch the anticipation grow to be nearly unbearable. Then, in a near whisper, he said, "It was a suicide." John laughed and applauded._

_"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant," He exclaimed._

"And…that's everything that I can remember." John rubbed his forehead vigorously, trying as hard as he could to make it seem like he really had forgotten everything. Sherlock looked speculative, but he chose to ignore it. He was far too groggy to make sense of anything.

Sherlock asked, "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," John wasn't sure if he'd given away the fact that he was lying, but he figured it would be best to keep up the act. In reality, he had remembered everything just a few moments after Sherlock asked him to make coffee. There was no way in hell he would tell Sherlock what happened that night. Ever.

_Sherlock and John stood outside of the restaurant, drunk out of their minds, and waiting for a taxi cab._

_"Hey, would you mind if I stayed in your…our flat tonight? It seems like the easier option than going across town to mine," John asked._

_"Of course." Sherlock meant what he was about to say with utmost sincerity. The words were slurred as he said, " Also, I'd like to, uh, thank you for tonight. I don't know if I've said this already, since I'm relatively drunk," He paused for a moment, "You saved my life, and…and I appreciate that." John was a little surprised, but grateful all the same._

_"Anytime." _Any bloody time.

_The two men stumbled into a cab, careful not to trip over each other. Their hands brushed very lightly, and though it was small, it was enough to make John blush. _Fuck. Don't blush. You're not gay, John. Not gay not gay not gay not gay…_ You could see the gears grinding in his head. This was all rather amusing to Sherlock._

_"You know, you're being terribly obvious," He said. John felt the heat rise to his cheeks. Again. His stomach knotted tightly, wound into a little ball of repressed feelings. Oh god, this is it. He knows. Fantastic._

_"What are you talking about?" He asked, pretending not to know._

_Sherlock stifled a giggle before he said, "You think I'm cute." His grin took up most of his face; He was enjoying this a bit too much. John feigned a look of complete surprise. He tried to think of something clever to say, but he came up with nothing._

_"I most certainly do not!" was all he could think of._

_"Please, John. If it wasn't true, it wouldn't have taken you as long to respond." Sherlock raised his eyebrows and looked at him. There was a long, awkward pause. _I bet the cab driver is listening now_, he thought. He figured he could remedy this quickly, if he said something soon enough._

_"You know, you're attractive, too," he said, hoping he wouldn't regret it. It was a bit awkward and forced, but John was probably too drunk to notice. John looked back at Sherlock quickly._

_"What…?"_

_Sherlock tried as hard as he could to sound matter of fact. "Yes, that's right. I find you…attractive." This wasn't a complete lie. He did think that John was handsome, in a simple way. What he felt wasn't anything resembling a crush. He was just…nice to look at._

_Sherlock and John looked at each other, their sense of better judgment was long gone. Sherlock was known to get a bit handsy when he was drunk, and John was becoming a slave to his emotions. This quickly led to trouble._ Ah, what the hell,_ Sherlock thought. He placed his hands on either side of John's face, lunged forward, and kissed him. John felt like he was going to melt. He had no idea what to do with his hands; they were just floating there. Nevertheless, he kissed him back._

_Sherlock broke the kiss for a moment. "Just wrap your arms around me, idiot," He scowled, before kissing him again. John was obedient. It was passionate, drunken, and rough. They were practically climbing all over each other, barely catching their breath. Sherlock had barely put his tongue in John's mouth when he realized what he was doing. He pulled away and moved back into his seat. Both of the men busied themselves by tidying their hair and their clothing; it was just a way to put off an awkward conversation._

_"John," He said quietly, "As I told you before, I am, uh, married to my work. I can't have any distractions. We should end this before things get… out of hand."_

_John wasn't surprised at all. A little hurt, maybe. But not surprised. "I understand," he said, "Besides, I think we were making the driver uncomfortable."_

_Later that night, Sherlock woke up on the couch, feeling uneasy. He thought he'd only lain down for a moment. Although he didn't like to admit it, he hated sleeping alone when he was drunk. It made him feel lost, like all of the neat little boxes and files and compartments in his mind were falling apart. He tried as best as he could to find some sort of blanket, but it was too hard to walk to his room. As quietly as he could, he tiptoed into John's room._

_"John? Wake up. I need to sleep in here tonight." No response. "John?" He was completely passed out. Sherlock sat down. After a few minutes, he was on his back. _I'll just lay down here and wait until he wakes up…

"Well, I guess we'll never know what happened," John said.

"That seems to be the case." They both sat in silence, John sipping his tea and Sherlock sipping his coffee, neither of them knowing what to say.

"So, you're absolutely positive then? You don't remember a thing?"

Sherlock looked at John inquisitively. "I'm absolutely positive."

Really, though, he wasn't. Not at all. Sherlock remembered everything from that night. And he most certainly regretted it. But life would go on as usual, and neither of them would find out that the other remembered. At least, not until much later.


End file.
